A Game of Horns: A Red Unicorn Anthology

by Gregory D. Little

  “The Red Unicorn gave his life to save a lovely maiden. What more could he ask for?”

  “Happily for now, huh?” she asked.

  “It’s a start.”

  “I could get used to it.”

  Together, they turned to watch the waves and wait for the onslaught of their curious friends.

  About the Author

  Nancy is a mom, writer, speaker, and lawyer. Before being a published writer, Nancy had been a blackjack dealer, florist, tax form coder, worked in professional theatre, accidently went to law school, and passed one bar exam while recovering from a concussion. Really, the horse’s headache was much worse. When she reflects that she has normal, boring life, she is often puzzled when people burst out laughing in response.

  The Fall of Winter

  Scott Eder

  Violet stormed through the front door and into the yard, heart thumping. Lightning slashed across a half-moon sky. Thunder detonated. Cold rain pelted her face, plastering her nightdress to her skin and her mass of blonde curls to her head in seconds. Barefoot, she squished through the mud, her glance darting across the rain-blurred courtyard to the pen, the barn, the distant hills.

  She heard growls and yips and snarls buried under the steady patter in the distance.

  Nonono. She’d seen the jaws, the flash of teeth, the blood in a vision. Even smelled the wet wolf fur. That, most of all, propelled her from the warmth beneath her blanket into the chill of a late autumnal deluge. Can’t have them. Can’t have my babies.

  She bit her lip, standing on tiptoes. “Where?” She swallowed the dread that soured her mouth.

  Bleating gray shapes flowed toward the shack like low-hanging fog.

  Yelps and whines toward the hills.

  Violet ran to the sound, forging a path through the sheep.

  A fierce snort. An irate neigh.

  Silence, but for the rainfall’s steady drone.

  Lightning flashed. Limned in the silvery light reared the shape of a stallion with a single horn jutting from its forehead.

  The sight stopped her dead. Her breath caught. Her feet sank into the mud. Rivulets of rainfall wept down her face as she waited for another flash, proof that she hadn’t imagined it. A strange burbling sensation, similar to the one she felt years ago on the day Kayden had saved her life, roiled in her belly. She felt a pull toward the hills, a call deep in her soul that ached to be answered. She took a step—

  Thunder rumbled. The ground vibrated beneath her toes. She took another step.

  “Violet!” Kayden called her name.

  His strong hands on her shoulders tried to steer her toward the house, but she held firm.

  Have to see …

  Lightning shredded the sky. The unicorn image had vanished, but the memory was seared into her brain.

  “It’s back, Kay,” she whispered into the thunderous rumble.

  Kayden squelched in the mud beside her and dropped to one knee as he draped an arm over her shoulder. He matched her stare. “I can feel it.” He rubbed his shirt, touching the scar on his chest from his last encounter with a unicorn. “Where?”

  Violet raised her arm and pointed to the hills.

  Kayden nodded.

  “Come in out of the rain you two,” Kayden’s wife, Winnie, called from the doorway. “You’ll catch your death.”

  Death. The word settled into Violet’s heart. After seven years, the beast had come back for her. This time, things could go differently. This time, Kayden might not be able to protect her. This time …

  A shiver wracked her thin frame.

  “She’s right, Vi.” His arm across her shoulders tensed. “Let’s get you out of the cold. We can’t do anything else tonight.”

  Violet let her brother guide her into the house. She went through the motions of changing and climbing into bed in a daze, dreading what the morning would bring. For long moments she stared at the thin wooden walls of the room Kayden had built off the back of the shack to house their growing family.

  Why now? Tears slid down her cheeks. It had taken seven years to cleanse her dreams of the purple killer who nearly stole her brother. Seven years of night terrors and screaming and wide-eyed sleepless nights. Seven years. She curled into a ball beneath a blanket of soft woolen heat, gripped her pillow tight, and waited for dawn.

  O O O

  “Vite!” Tiny, imprecise fingers poked Violet’s right eye then managed to pry open her eyelid. “You ’wake, Vite?” A too-close face full of chubby red cheeks, emerald-colored eyes, pouty lips, and a shock of fire-red hair consumed Violet’s limited vision. Gusts of warm, sour breath seemed to blow directly into her nostrils.

  “Rose?” Violet mumbled.

  “You are ’wake!” Rose mashed her nose into Violet’s and batted her eyelashes.

  She pushed the toddler gently out of tickling range. “I am now.”

  Sunlight streamed through the lone window, bathing the small room in morning. Violet sat up, careful not to dislodge her niece from her perch, and stretched. In the bright light of a new day, last night’s incident seemed distant and unreal, nothing more than another bad dream.

  Just another dream. She shook her head at her foolishness. She should have been used to it, but every once in a while a vivid dream intruded upon her sense of reality.

  Violet sighed in relief. “Hey, Flower, should we tend to the woolly army?”

  “I no flower.” Rose squirmed off the cot and picked up her stuffed sheep from the floor. “Wet.” She picked at a spot near its fuzzy rump.

  Violet kicked off the blanket and stepped down into a puddle originating from her rain-soaked night dress piled in the corner. A chill wracked her body. Muddy footprints led from her cot to the other rooms.

  Rose splashed in the thin layer of water, giggling.

  It can’t be. “Flower …” Violet glanced out the window. At the edge of their farm, Kayden stood with his arms crossed, facing the hills and distant forest to the north. “Where’s your ma?”

  The little girl pointed toward the kitchen as she squelched in a circle, wiggling her toes with each step. Violet pulled a clean dress over her head, jammed her arms into an overcoat, grabbed the sodden garment, and followed the dirty trail into the kitchen.

  Winnie stood over the washbasin, eyes closed, red hair fluttering in a chill breeze from the open window. She swayed slightly and rubbed her swollen belly.

  Violet’s bare heels thumped on the wooden floor. Droplets falling from the nightdress mixed with the muddy trail. She held the mess in front of her, careful not to dangle it over the small table heaped with bread and fresh vegetables.

  Winnie smiled, but didn’t turn or open her eyes. “Your brother’s waiting for you.” Her calm voice held no hint of anger or frustration at the recent desecration of her floors.

  “Winnie, I—” Violet wanted to apologize for once again disrupting what should have been a tranquil, sheep-farming existence.

  “Shush, hon. It’s okay. Now scoot.”

  Rose squealed in the other room followed by a loud thump and the wail of a frustrated toddler. Winnie shook her head, and Violet hustled outside. After spreading her dress across a fence post to dry, she jogged toward her brother, sticking to the grass to avoid the swamped courtyard. The rest of the farm seemed to have survived the storm—the barn, the fence, both fine. She glanced toward the copse of aspen arcing around the head of her parents’ graves. The storm had knocked hundreds of leaves from the trees, cloaking their resting place in a dragon’s horde of russet and gold.

  You always predicted the beast would return, Da. Wish you were here. Stupid wolves. Though other farmers had to deal with the constant danger of wolves, their farm remained impervious. Well, had remained impervious until a week ago when the first sheep went missing. Every night after that, more sheep disappeared, the bloody evidence clear.

  The wolves had finally found their farm.

  Last night was different. Weird and personal. Though the wolves invaded Violet’s dre
am, something else had driven her into the rain, something else wanted her to bear witness.

  Violet slowed to a walk as she drew close to her brother. The coiled intensity in his stance, as much as their grandfather’s sword strapped to his back, gave her pause. His gaze remained fixed on the hills, jaw muscles flexing.

  “What is it, Kay?”

  “Nice of you to finally join me.” Kayden smiled to show his comment nothing more than a tease. “We lost several last night, the most yet.” He pointed to a slew of dark heaps littering the ground between two hills fifty paces off the edge of their farm. “Ready?”

  Violet nodded and followed his lead, keeping close to his shoulder. Her keen gaze raked the rolling countryside, alert for signs of the hunt—a flash of gray out of the corner of her eye, the snap of a twig, the stray snarl or growl.

  As they approached the killing ground, Kayden drew his grandfather’s sword. Patches of rust, chips, and notches marred the once-fine blade, but its edge remained sharp and deadly. Violet was glad to see it in Kayden’s strong grip. Though no swordsman, he could fell a tree with powerful strikes of a sharp ax. Wolves would fare no better.

  Kayden stopped at the first gray-furred heap and jabbed the tip of the sword in the earth. “Wolves?” He rubbed his fingers through short-cropped, brown hair. “I don’t get it.”

  Deep chunks and gouges had been torn out of the earth, the ground churned beneath a powerful force as though the setting had seen battle. Violet counted three dead wolves and two sheep beyond. She knelt over one of the wolves, searching for a wound. The rain had washed most of the blood from the fur, but she still found it—a round hole punched through the skin. She shot a look at her brother, who perked up at the attention. He walked over and knelt by her side.

  “Son of a bitch.” He reached for his tunic, rubbed his chest.

  “Kayden?”

  He stood and moved off, thoughts and vision distant. “I had hoped your vision last night nothing more than a dream, Vi, like so many before. And the throbbing of my scar the same, chalked up to the stress of a wolf attack. But now …”

  A low moan sounded from near one of the sheep.

  Kayden hurdled the dead animal, sword at the ready. Once on the other side, though, he tossed the sword to the ground. “Violet!”

  She helped him ease a woman onto her back. Hidden by the sheep’s carcass and a mud-stained cloak, they had not seen her. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes shut tight, skin sallow and drawn beneath a layer of filth. She shivered in pain and cold. Blood seeped from several deep scratches across her face, her throat. Puncture wounds dotted her hands and arms.

  Kayden scanned the ground around them, brows drawn, lost in thought.

  Violet stripped off her coat and laid it over the woman. “We have to save her, Kay.”

  He started at her statement. “Oh, uh, of course.” He sheathed his sword and slid his hands under the injured woman. “We’ll take her home. Winnie can tend her there.” Gently, as though she were his own child, he cradled her frail body against his chest.

  On the walk home, Violet watched every hill, every opening, every depression for a glimpse of gray fur, but found nothing. They moved as quickly as they could without jostling their patient.

  “Did you notice the ground?” Kayden seemed unfazed by his fragile burden.

  “No, why?”

  “Cloven hooves. The prints surrounded her.” He nodded to indicate his charge. “I think it protected her and killed the wolves. Tracks led away from the scene, into the hills to the west.”

  The woman gasped, face contorting in pain. Her eyes rolled beneath her lids.

  They reached the edge of the farm and increased speed on the familiar turf. The milling sheep steered clear, scampering away from Kayden’s determined approach.

  Winnie poked her head out the door and, seeing the hurried procession, disappeared inside. Violet let Kayden enter first. Once inside, Winnie, with a curious Rose on her hip, directed him to lay the woman on Violet’s cot. Within minutes, she had set out a bowl filled with steaming water, a pile of linen bandages, and dried herbs.

  He eased her down. Winnie handed him Rose and pushed him out of the small room.

  “Here.” She dipped a linen strip in the water and handed it to Violet. “Clean the wounds on her face. I’ll do her hands.”

  Tentative at first, not used to dealing with serious injuries, Violet dabbed at the woman’s skin, removing patches of dirt and dried blood, exposing the aged skin beneath. The woman was far older than Violet had first thought. Her ancient face held an odd familiarity, as though she’d seen its shape and contours before.

  “The poor dear.” Winnie winced as she dug a tooth out of one of the wounds. “Thank goodness she’s asleep.” She fetched a mortar and pestle, ground the herbs, and mixed them with a few drops of water to form a paste, which she applied to each of the wounds.

  “What will that do?” Violet asked.

  “It will help prevent infection and dull the pain.” She pointed to the woman’s closed eyes. “See, she’s relaxing a little. Come on.” Rising to her feet, she held out her hand for Violet. “We’ll let her sleep.”

  The woman gasped. Her eyes popped open and found Violet’s. Recognition shocked them both. Though Violet had never met this woman before, she knew her, knew her heart, knew her soul.

  “Thank the Lord of the Herd, I’ve found you.” The woman’s eyes fluttered and closed. A smile teased at her lips as she drifted back into oblivion.

  O O O

  Violet sat beside the cot, occasionally wiping beads of sweat from the woman’s feverish brow. She pulled another twig from her tangled mass of silvery curls.

  Who are you? Watching the injured woman sleep, Violet felt an odd sense of protectiveness, of kinship. The cant of her eyes, the set of her mouth, the shape of her nose. Something so familiar, so loving, lay just out of reach. And Violet very much wanted to reach out and grab it.

  Whispers drifted down the hall from the kitchen, carried on the cool breeze through the open front door. Kayden and Winnie were discussing the woman. They thought their conversation private, but in a three-room shack with parchment-thin walls, nothing was private. Winnie didn’t expect the woman to survive the night.

  Unshed tears threatened to spill down Violet’s cheeks, but she dabbed them away with the sleeve of her homespun dress. Focusing on something other than her sudden strong feelings, she dipped a cloth in the cool water and wiped the woman’s face again.

  “She looks like Ma.” Kayden’s soft, deep voice carried a hint of sadness.

  Violet jumped. She hadn’t heard her brother’s silent approach. Heart racing, she leaned closer and found her mother behind the woman’s features.

  “It just hit me.” He knelt by Violet’s side. “But I can’t …” He shrugged, searching for the right words.

  “Violet.” Scratchy and weak, that single name escaped the woman’s lips before her body convulsed. Head twisting from side to side, her arms and legs tensed, muscles rigid beneath the woolen coverlet. She arced off the bed.

  “Pretty horsey,” Rose squealed from the kitchen.

  Violet’s stomach rolled. Gooseflesh rushed across her skin.

  Kayden rushed to the front door, but Violet knew he’d see nothing. Attuned through some cosmic meld, she sensed it approach, felt the tremor of its doomsday hoof beats, the heat of its infernal breath through the minute cracks between the planks in the walls, the strength of its conviction.

  It wanted her.

  But the sensation didn’t fill her with dread. No. It was more of an excitement, a thrill stirring in her gut so different from the last time. A longing. A desire to explore, to gallop through the forest, to race from hilltop to hilltop to—

  She placed her hand, then her cheek, on the wall, soaking in the warmth made by the creature’s exhalations.

  On the other side of the wall, the creature snorted and retreated.

  The woman—no, Annalise; the name popped in
to Violet’s head without effort—opened her eyes. With labored breath, she jerked her head toward Violet.

  “Move, child,” she croaked.

  The drumming of hoof beats vibrated the floor.

  Violet bent to Annalise’s side. As she did, a pearlescent horn punched through the wall where her cheek had been. The impact split the plank. Cracks radiated from the point of entry. Violet gaped as the creature wiggled its horn.

  Kayden charged in. He pulled Violet away from the struggling beast as the horn wrenched free.

  A fiery red eyeball peered through the hole. The beast stamped and neighed, scanning the interior. When it spotted Annalise, it snorted and pushed against the wall, but the sight of the woman seemed to calm him.

  “Help me up, child.”

  Keeping the red eye in sight, Kayden bent to help, but Annalise shied away.

  “No! Only the girl. Only Violet.”

  Kayden frowned but backed away, making space for Violet. She slipped an arm behind Annalise’s back, catching a whiff of the cinnamon apples her ma used to make for the Yuletide Feast, and helped her sit. The scent made her mouth water.

  “Easy, easy.” Annalise winced and settled into a sitting position with a heavy sigh. Violet stuffed a pillow behind her back for support. “My feet, dear.” Her voice was stronger, yet little more than a rasp. She waved a bandage-wrapped hand toward the end of the cot. As if noticing the linen wraps for the first time, she flicked her wrist and let gravity unwind the rest.

  Kayden opened his mouth to protest, but a stern glance stayed his words.

  “Not prepared,” Annalise muttered, revealing the pinkish hue of newly healed skin beneath the bandages. “Selfish girl. Up and dying before teaching her daughter.”

  Violet lifted the blanket and slid the woman’s feet to the floor. The smell of fresh-tilled soil rose from her dirty feet. Lichen flourished between her toes.

  At a loss, Kayden stood in the corner. Banished from helping, he kept a wary eye on the watching beast. “Ma’am, I—”

  “Annalise,” Violet and Annalise spoke at the same time. A brief smile flitted across the old woman’s face. “Perhaps not all is lost.” Shoulders hunched, she sat on the edge of the cot and unraveled the bandage around her neck.